


All Good Things

by tess1978



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Difficult Decisions, Feels, Friendship, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess1978/pseuds/tess1978
Summary: Scribe Haylen finds Paladin Danse on the deck of the Prydwen and prepares to deliver some bad news.





	All Good Things

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Reverse Fallout Big Bang. I was paired with [Phoenixislost](http://phoenixislost.tumblr.com/) and given this absolutely stunning work of art to work with. It's so gorgeous, I couldn't stop staring at it. I can only hope I did it justice. 

I can see the hope in him as I approach. 

After all this time together I can read his moods almost as well as I read my own. Even from behind I can see it.

The sun is setting over the Commonwealth, its golden rays reflecting off the ruined buildings of what used to be downtown Boston, glinting on the metal and glass of the skyscrapers in the distance. It seems the entire range of yellow, red, orange, and gold occupy the sky. So much of our world is dark, gloomy and grey, or the glowing green of unnatural things. But the sun is eternal. As long as the sun remains, coming and going in its predictable route through the sky, so too does life. Rising and setting like the sun.

It was a beautiful day today. It's almost summer and the sunset is long and late. The evening air is humid and warm, but not yet hot enough to be muggy and unbearable. It’s pleasant out here on the flight deck especially after having spent much of my day hunched over a terminal. I’ve stood with him countless times at this very railing. Sometimes his quiet words brought reprimand, sometimes consolation. But more often, especially as of late, it was the quiet silence of companionship, of two equals who found common purpose in life, who had the comfort of shared experiences and trust between them.

I stop just before he notices me and watch him. He closes his eyes briefly, basking in the evening rays which shine their golden-pink glow on his face and shine on his dark hair. 

He’s a good-looking man. I am not sure I ever really noticed before. My eye has always been drawn elsewhere. But I regard him now, taking note of the strong lines of his jaw and brow, his full lips, the rich dark brown of his eyes. He’s never seen it in himself, either, his grooming practical rather than vain. 

He’s tall, strong, his muscles apparent under the orange of his flight suit. My eye follows the line of his body, skimming over his broad shoulders as he leans on the railing, the neat taper of his waist, his legs, thick with muscle from hours spent in power armour, and his feet, firmly planted on the quietly vibrating deck of the Prydwen. There’s pride in his stance. He is proud of his place in the world and the things he’s accomplished. His every fibre radiates it. 

Pride and love.

I look again at his face. His eyes close briefly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. I’ve spent so much time with him that I can almost read his thoughts. And lately his thoughts lie with our savior in blue, the apple of his eye. 

He’s hopeful. Maybe moreso now than at any other time in his life. Hopeful that the data the Knight recently brought back from underground will help us finally find and defeat the Institute.. Hopeful that with the threat of synths eliminated that the people of the Commonwealth will be able to live and thrive in safety. 

Hopeful that soon their mission would be complete and that he and his Knight can have the chance at happiness together that they both deserve. That soon he will see the peace and companionship I know he’s been craving.

Hopeful that he will soon be able to go home.

I clench my fists, suddenly angry. Why does it have to be me? 

I look away for a moment, tears threatening to spill over. I don’t want to be the one to destroy that hope, to smash his dreams and shatter his illusions. I wish more than anything in the world that I could turn and walk away, leaving him to his dreams, letting him stand here on the top of the world, at the precipice of happiness.

But I don’t have a choice. I spent the better part of the day today turning this over in my mind, checking and rechecking the evidence, weighing out my options. Trying to decide if I can betray him to the Brotherhood… or if I can betray the Brotherhood to him. 

But in the end, I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t be here, alive and able to make this decision at all, if it weren’t for him. I owe him my life. The least I can do is give him a chance at his.

***

He saw me before I ever saw him. 

At fifteen, I was cocky and confident, and absolutely, utterly, reckless.

I had found the sewage tunnel by accident, hiding as I frequently needed to do, being a child alone in the Capital Wasteland. 

But this wasn’t just any tunnel. It connected, through a roundabout way, to the Jefferson Memorial, home of Project Purity, and a Brotherhood base second only to the Citadel in security. 

Not only had I discovered a way into the fortress, I had discovered an abandoned terminal. A little tweaking and I had it connected to the other ones in the facility, and soon I had the entire layout of the building memorized. Including the location of the medbay storage. 

And the chems.

If there’s one thing I knew better than computers, it was chems. I didn’t use them, but the Brotherhood stash would keep me in caps for a good long time. Maybe even long enough to find a permanent place to live.

But as good as I was, he was better. Or so I told myself.

It was more accurate to say he was just in the right place at the right time, off duty, strolling through the storage areas looking for a snack. He told me a long time later that he had been nicking Fancy Lads Snack Cakes at night when nobody was around.

But that night he found me instead. 

I had already figured out the passcode to the terminal that locked the chem room door, and was focused on that, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder and I looked up to find a frowning Brotherhood knight glaring back at me.

So I did what I could, what sometimes worked in the past.

I cried.

Small for age, slender, and with the typical pale, washed out complexion of a redhead, I looked a lot younger than I was. I opened my eyes wide, tears welling, and looked up at him. “Please mister! I’m just an orphan! I was just looking for food!”

It was the right thing to say. An orphan himself, he had a weak spot for the homeless and helpless children of the wasteland, and I had hit a nerve.

Instead of imprisoning me, he asked me to show him how I got in. After I explained how I had hacked the computer, he did the last thing I expected.

He sponsored me.

And that’s how I joined the Brotherhood.

I recognized it for what it was. I wasn’t rebellious or sullen. I saw the opportunity I had. Along with the other scribe initiates I learned history, science, and math, and expanded my chem knowledge into medic training. 

Nobody could touch me on hacking, though. Before long, I was the one teaching them.

My sponsor kept a close eye on me, and I got to know him a little better. Quiet and composed, ever professional, he was known to be firm and unforgiving, unfailingly loyal to the Order and to the Elder. The other scribes were nervous around him, his size and demeanor intimidating to the bookish people in that sector of the order. 

But I saw him differently. As my sponsor, it was his duty to instruct me in the rules and culture of the Brotherhood, to ensure I knew the rituals and the Codex, to drill me and assimilate me into the Order until I fit in as well as someone who had been born there. 

It was, by nature, a close relationship. 

We spent hours in the evenings going over the Codex and history. He taught me to play chess. We spent hours over that chess board. He kept me going when I wanted to quit, held me up when I wasn’t strong enough, and was there for me unlike anyone else I had ever known. 

He taught me more than just facts. I learned how important the Brotherhood was. Not only to him, but to the entire wasteland. How vital loyalty and honour and dedication was and how we must put it before everything, even ourselves. 

Our pasts and upbringing - or lack thereof - were similar, and our skills complementary. He was deadly in battle, efficient in power armour, and could strip a weapon down to scrap and rebuild it faster than anyone. 

I could barely clean my gun and I had nowhere near the strength or coordination required to move the heavy suits of armour. But my hacking and medical skills were invaluable, and so I was a vital part of every field operation he led from the moment I completed my training and was initiated as a field scribe.

And that’s how I found myself on Recon Squad Gladius.

There were rumours of the mission for months before it was announced. When my sponsor was selected to lead it, I knew it was a certainty that I be assigned to the team. 

The month-long trek north was gruelling, and our mission was almost a failure. We had lost over half our team already. I could see the stress and worry on his face as he closed off from the rest of us, taking full responsibility for our failure. He hadn’t been sleeping; instead he paced the floor at night.

I had my own problems. My own worry. I know I should have been there for him, but my heart was distracted.

Normally I would have discussed my loneliness and unrequited feelings for a certain Knight with my sponsor. We were like family, he and I, and I know he would have advised me… or at least consoled me. 

But the stress and worry of leading our group was wearing on him. It was filtering down to the rest of us as well, and the stress was making us all snap at each other at the slightest provocation. 

Things got worse after we tried to take over a car factory. We had to retreat, and one of our men was injured. We retreated. I knew the move was hard on my friend, but what came next was hard on me. 

I was a good medic, I knew it. But nothing I could do helped. I tried everything, but it seemed like whenever one injury was patched, another opened up. I tried everything I could. I tried. 

I knew what had to be done. I knew before he told me. Ordered me.

I injected the soldier with a lethal dose of Med-x and held his hand while he died.

I went to give my report after, official and professional, before returning to my bedroll, my heart and mind in turmoil. I wanted to do more. I should have been able to do more. 

He found me later that night and I cried as he held me. I knew how much the soldier’s death had hurt, how it had impacted him. But he was strong for me. So strong. He lifted me up, seemed to take my pain into himself. I was left feeling drained but better. It was cathartic for both of us, I thought.

But it didn’t solve the problems we faced. The police station was difficult to secure, we were down in numbers, and we had lost radio contact with the Prydwen, which was supposed to be on its way. Worse, there were a number of ghouls amassing in a nearby metro station, and we didn’t have the capability to go in and clear them out. We could hear them, their groans and cries echoing in the neighborhood all day and night. The sound filled me with a sense of dark apprehension and kept us all on edge.

When the ghoul herd finally found its way to our base, I was certain it was the end for us.

I could see it in his eyes as he fought them off, knowing death was near for us all. 

But that’s when our savior appeared. 

A Vault Dweller, but unlike any other. They arrived in the nick of time, storming into the compound, armed with molotovs and a pipe pistol, and desperately looking for a missing son. Without their help we wouldn’t have survived.

I saw the burden lift from his shoulders almost the second they appeared. His life changed in that moment. Anyone could see it. The way they looked at each other when they came back from Arcjet was inspiring and beautiful. I could only hope my Knight would look at me that way someday, but he was being stubborn.

He sponsored them, of course. Agile, stealthy, and resourceful, they became a valuable member of the team, and the next several months after the Prydwen arrived, it became a common sight, the two of them. Where one went, the other followed. 

I couldn’t help but be happy for him. His good spirit was infectious. His attitude and hopefulness touched everyone on the Prydwen. Even the Elder took to smiling when he saw them together. 

It was unusual for a new initiate to be promoted to Knight so quickly. Rumours spread about their prowess in battle, wild tales of unbelievable battles against synths and deathclaws, but I knew the truth. They had information about the Institute and a way in that nobody else had, and the Elder was cunning enough to do what he must to keep the new Knight on his side, to ensure their loyalty to our cause. 

It was all political with him. I could see it, even if the others, the ones born into the Brotherhood and raised to worship his name, could not. 

It’s not that the Elder was a bad man. But he knew how to grab power and keep it, and he was occasionally ruthless in that regard. 

And so he overlooked the new Knight’s insubordinate attitude and allowed them their freedom. He was willing to use their unusual background and resources, and their sheer determination to find their son for his own purposes. And it got results. 

My friend and his Knight managed to track down a way inside, and soon a teleporter sat at the airport, and the Knight was whisked away. 

The week they were in the Institute was stressful for us all. I could see it in everyone’s face, from the Elder right on down to the lowest squire. But nobody worried more than my friend. 

He didn’t sleep the entire time. I could hear him at night, pacing. Sometimes in his quarters, but more often in the armour bay, as he fidgeted with his immaculate armour and snapped at squires who dared to venture too close. 

We were all certain the Knight would not return from the Institute. That a courser would have gotten them the second they materialized inside. We had no way of knowing, no communication. All we could do was wait.

The sixth day, I found him in the bay. Everyone else gave him a wide berth, his thick, furrowed brow and growls not inviting to most. But I ignored it, sitting near him quietly for an hour or so. I left, returning with a hot drink for us both, and he calmed enough to sit with me for a while. 

We decided to go for a walk, heading to the flight deck to watch the sunset, leaning companionably over the railing. After a time, I asked if he would accompany me to a nearby facility to acquire some obscure piece of tech we both knew I didn’t really need. He saw through my attempt to distract him, but smiled anyway, agreeing to come along on the mission.

The next day went smoothly. The Brotherhood had mostly cleared out that location some time previously, but he vented some of his frustration on what remained, a nest of molerats, and we retrieved some item that seemed useful, before returning. 

We took the opportunity on the walk back to talk. I told him of my troubles with my own Knight and his stubborn reluctance to consider anything but the Brotherhood. He told me of the plans he’d made with his Knight, his plans for a family someday soon, a home together in the Capital Wasteland.

He told me that for the first time in his life, he had dreams. Real hope for a future. 

As we neared the airport he stopped and turned to me, thanking me for the distraction, the excuse to use his body and focus his mind on something else before the waiting drove him crazy.

We knew there was something going on the moment we returned.

The Knight was back, alive and well, but there was something in their eyes, a haunted look, that hadn’t been there before. 

We headed to the Prydwen, and on the short ride I watched the two of them together. The Knight looked despondently at the ground below, while his hand moved slowly up and down their back. I turned away, trying to give them privacy.

Upon arrival, they departed to debrief the Elder, and I went to my bunk and laid down, staring at the deck above and wondering what had gone on in the mysterious facility below. I had nothing to do but worry, and I fell asleep early, still dressed. 

The next morning, I was awakened by a squire and summoned to the Proctor’s office. The Knight had returned with a holotape full of encrypted data from the Institute. He couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, so he set me to work deciphering it. 

The facility data was easy. The weak spots in their defenses were easy to spot, and I made note of them and sent them to the Elder. Next I waded through personnel files, making note of key people within the facility. When I came to the Director, I noticed his name. Intrigued, I did some digging, and found some interesting information that certainly went a long way towards explaining the Knight’s demeanor upon their return.

But what I found that first day was not nearly as shocking as what I discovered on my second day of wading through data. 

It was a list of Generation 3 synths. The first list was short. Infiltration synths sent to replace a human, I ran their files against our records as a precaution. I was relieved to get no hits back. The second list was escaped synths. 

On a whim, I ran that against our records as well, not really expecting to get a hit. I let the computer run and left for lunch. I returned to find a blinking message on the monitor. 

There was a hit.

It had to be wrong. 

It had to be.

I’d known him for years. I would know if he were a synth, wouldn’t I?

I ran it again. And again. Same results every time.

The Proctor came in, asking how my work was coming along. I jumped, glancing guiltily at the screen. I answered him in a pleasant voice, muttering something about computer glitches and lunch breaks. He asked me about the facility schematics and my earlier findings and I answered him, my heart pounding, until satisfied, he left me to my task, and I sat back in my chair in dismay.

Looking at the data again, I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. My sponsor, my _friend,_ was indisputably a synth. 

Everything he ever did for me, every time he saved my life, every time he encouraged me, bolstered me, had my back, ran through my mind. From the moment he caught me hacking into Project Purity he’d been there for me, at my side. From the moment I met him he had been my Brother. My family.

We were part of a greater family. Part of a Brotherhood. And everything he was, his very being, meant that as a part of the greater whole, my loyalty must come to the Order first. To my other Brothers and Sisters. To the Elder. The correct thing to do was to inform my superiors, and seal his fate.

I didn’t know what to do. Eventually I was going to have to give this information to my superiors. There was no way around it. No way to hide or delete it. They were going to find out no matter what I did.

The best I could do was warn him.

But warning him went against everything he ever taught me. Everything about the Brotherhood, our mission, and loyalty. I was obligated to turn him in. Obligated to come forward with this for the good of the order and for the good of the mission.

I went back and forth, torn. Agonizing. Why me? Why did I get this choice? Why must I be the one? I closed my eyes, thinking back to every moment we had together. Every moment we’ve shared. That first night when he saved me from a life of hardship in the wasteland. The evenings studying the Codex. Field missions and field rations and the blood, sweat and tears we shed for each other and the members of our team.

He wasn’t a machine. He _isn’t_ a machine. He’s a man. My friend. My mentor, my sponsor, and my savior.

Telling him will save him. Give him a chance to escape. To find a place where he can be alive.

But telling him will destroy him. 

It will undermine his security, his hope for the future, his very sense of self. It will tear him from his home, his family. Every scrap of security he's ever known.

As I stand here, watching him look out over the Commonwealth, the dying sun shining on his face, I hesitate yet again. Maybe it would be kinder to keep this to myself. He’ll be executed, but at least he will go out feeling like the man I’ve always known him to be. 

I run my hand over my face, recognizing my hesitation for what it is - my subconscious attempt to avoid the distasteful discussion before me. He still is that man, even if he’s in hiding, torn from everything he’s known. He will always be that man. I have to give him that choice.

I breathe in. Out. In again. Then I step up beside him.

***

We stand there for a long time. I have gone through the evidence I compiled, explaining my process. How I checked and checked and checked again. He doesn’t speak much. Doesn’t ask questions. I can see the hope fading in his eyes, the realization that I am speaking the truth. He closes off, shuts down.

In the end, he just nods and turns back to the railing. Back to the horizon and the sun setting over the city ruins, his hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the cold, metal railing. 

I walk away, heading back into the Prydwen. There isn’t anything else I can do. I can keep the proctors off his back, give him a few days at most to get his affairs in order and make a decision. But I can’t help him decide. 

When I get to the door, I turn and look at him again, one last time. He stands there still, his hands on the railing, as the sunlight shining on him dims. The warm oranges and reds are fading to cool violet as the last sliver of the sun vanishes behind the jagged, ruined horizon. As I watch, he lifts his face, catching the last dying rays, his eyes closed.

As the shadow falls over him, his shoulders fall and his head bows. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> [Please visit me on tumblr!](https://tess-etc.tumblr.com/)


End file.
